


First Meet

by gigi2690



Category: Doctor Who, Warehouse 13
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-27
Updated: 2013-04-27
Packaged: 2017-12-09 18:00:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/776359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gigi2690/pseuds/gigi2690
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I know in canon Vastra met Jenny saving her from a bunch of muggers, but I’m giving it a different spin, one involving The Doctor, River Song and H.G. Wells (of the female Warehouse 13 variety).</p>
            </blockquote>





	First Meet

**Author's Note:**

> Please do not copy or duplicate on other sites or mediums without my consent.

A pained creak in the floorboards drew dark eyes from spine-broken books and ink stained fingers to the door set in the corner of the gas lit study. Normally she wouldn’t notice such a thing, a woman of her standing often had any number of lady’s maids or other staff bustling around at any given time, but not now, not when Helena was on the final chapter of her latest novel. 

Everyone had been sent away, and her Christina was in Paris with family. No, someone else was lurking just out of sight…

 And whispering-woman and man-context lost through the wood but not the teasing lilt to their words. 

Leaning further across the writer’s table that shielded her from the door, Helena shifted her balance, assessing the freedom her outfit would allow for movement. Fortunately her chosen writing attire was comprised of simple trousers, one of her specially tailored button down blouses and a double-breasted vest, far better in a fight than bustles and whalebone corsets

 (That said, she’d once ripped out part of the boning in her corset and drove it into the leg of a would-be attacker; she was adaptable.)

A tall lanky man in a strange suit and spotted bowtie swept into the room, flailing limbs and ridiculous hair, a bizarre tool with a radiant green light flipping absently in his hand.  _Nikola would love to get his hands on that._  She held her Tesla tight in her palm, unsure where to point it as her intruders separated and began to wander about the room. Making themselves at home, yet to say a word as to their intent.

The woman was just as striking; Helena’s eyes were first drawn to the large mane of lovely golden curls, and then down smooth lines of forest green-a dress with a hem and neck line that would make a godly woman blush, from her drew a raised brow-and while the man was rummaging through the books on one of the nearby shelves, flipping through pages with paradoxically careless reverence, the woman, was assessing the writer…  _Always had a weakness for green eyes._

People who make an entrance intend to send a message. As ill mannered as their intrusion was, Helena found herself more than a little intrigued, and it wasn’t as if she cared much for decorum.

Her eyes darted to the window and the street below; she suspected she was beginning to understand. Her shoulders relaxed slightly, and she watched with interest as the blonde woman did the same. She had the distinct impression she had just withdrawn from a standoff.

 Not uncommon in her work as a warehouse agent-

-charming a young man of Scotland Yard into handing over an artifact taken in as evidence in a murder…intimidating a grave robber into handing over his wares- 

-this was different. This was knees to the ground, throat bared. It was odd…the trepidation singing in her veins, holding her still… this was how it felt: to be the prey; to be outmatched.

She did not care for it; she wanted to know more. 

“I am Helena Wells,” she waited until the man finally looked up and she had both sets of eyes on her, “Would you care to explain your invasion into my home?” 

For all the thinly veiled menace in her voice, the man simply grinned widely before clapping his hands together, 

“H.G! H.G, H.G. Good old H.G. Sorry, distracted, redoing the library you see and some books have water damage,” he leaned in her direction to mock whisper conspiratorially, “I must advise against putting a swimming pool in a library. You would think-“ 

“You’re H.G. Wells?” The blonde addressed her now with definite interest, stepping forward to press her fingertips against the edge of the table. H.G’s fingers twitched around her Tesla but she did not step back, “I used to read your books as a child.” 

Helena smirked and ran her fingers through her hair with her free hand, “How fascinating seeing as I only started publishing a few years ago,” she watched the man give the blonde a look of censure, which was met with remorseless amusement. The air was thicker now, laden with anticipation borne of secrets acknowledged but not yet spilt.

“So tell me, I know that the strange blue box on the corner of my street is capable of traversing through time, but can it do more?” It was more direct than she was accustomed to being, but these were not her contemporaries, and years spent mastering a blank countenance was not enough to conceal her excitement now. 

The man straightened up, coming to full attention, nervously fixing his bowtie as he spoke, “I am-“

“The Doctor.” There was a pregnant silence.

“How did you-”

“A peculiarly garbed man with little sense of propriety,” a loud bark of laughter brought her gaze to the woman, “a beautiful companion,” eyes still on the blonde, she canted her head towards the window and the street below, “and a large blue box capable of appearing and disappearing and leaving no evidence that it was ever there at all, I’ve heard the stories,” she turned back to face the Doctor and took in his expectant expression, “hardly a mystery Doctor.”

The man was beaming now, rubbing his hands together in shameless enthusiasm _,_

“But there’s more to it than that, yes?” He made his way to her worktable along the wall and began picking up sketches and blueprints, turning them every which way, “You couldn’t have known it was _my_ box, and you couldn’t have known to look for it if you hadn’t suspected something already,” he scooped up the metal frame of a work-in-progress and began to spin it between his fingers, “and don’t tell me it’s because you don’t care for my choice of clothes.”

Helena let out a small laugh, more amused than annoyed at the uninvited perusal of her work,

 “Ah, but it does come down to clothing Doctor,” she made her way around the table, letting the Tesla fall limp to her side, “The clasp locker on your companion’s dress. I was at the Chicago World Fair in 1893 when the clasp locker first made its debut. I even tested some used to bind two pieces of cloth.” The-as of yet nameless- blonde stood her ground as Helena approached, stepping carelessly over her ingrained rules of etiquette (for truly what is the etiquette for dealing with time traveling intruders), “Awful construction. Terribly complicated.” 

She stopped just as she was close enough to run her fingers along the metal ridges going down the side of woman’s dress, “ _This_ is different. Smaller, tighter metal teeth,” she pulled the clasp down the first few inches stopping as a small constellation of freckles came into view, “and of course, there is the matter of the tool in your hand and the weapon strapped to this woman’s thigh, neither the like of which I’ve ever seen.”

“Ooh you’re clever,” the woman’s voice fell to a distinct purr as fingers slipped around Helena’s own, refastening the clasp before she turned to the Doctor, “I  _like_  her.” The blonde’s gaze swept back to Helena, trailing down her body, keen green eyes now more appreciative than appraising, “But you really ought to get a girl’s name before undressing her.”

The woman turned the hand still held in hers over and ghosted her thumb over the ink stain on her palm, “Now then, I’m River Song.” There was the spark of something thrilling and dangerous in her eyes: a dare yet to be deciphered but already unequivocally accepted. 

The Doctor cleared his throat, “Clever, clever, of course she’s clever. Writer, Warehouse 12 agent, Artificer- have you seen her inventions,” he held up the metal frame still spinning between his fingertips, “this one, for instance, will be a beauty! Chicago Fair, 1983. Good year. I don’t remember seeing you there, then again I was a bit preoccupied, you see there was this incident with a Slitheen and a mime on the top of a Ferris wheel-”

 “Not that this isn’t all fascinating, but I suspect there is a reason you both are here in my home.”

The Doctor clapped his hands together, “Ah yes, right. We are in need of a lady’s maid, and you know just the person for us.”

H.G raised a brow at the assertion, “Do I now?”

“Yes, sent myself a note after seeing you to tell myself to come see you, time travel for you. Now, a curious mind, taste for the bizarre and fantastic, strong will-and constitution, there will be danger involved- Ooo a positive outlook on reptiles would certainly help. Now, tell me, do you have a lady’s maid for me?” He waited for her response though his expression made clear that this was a formality, he knew her answer.

“Well, I don’t know about reptiles, but yes, I have someone in mind.”

~~~

Started out brilliantly, nothing better than a nighttime stroll through Victorian London-even if it did smell nearly as foul as a Sontaran breeding planet-but over the low D of H.G.’s leather soled boots and the sharp B of River’s metal heels the Doctor soon found himself listening to a resounding percussion of other footsteps _,_  and they were getting closer.

 _Leather and wood soles. Most likely human, or aliens wearing human shoes._ The Doctor glanced down at his feet; he liked his loafers, he’d taken them from Craig’s closet.  _19 most likely human feet unless they have themselves a Craig._

“How far now?”

 “Why? What is it?” The writer threw him a cautious glance.  _Quick this one_. H.G’s eyes scanned the dark corners and alleys neglected by the street lamps but saw nothing. Her human eyes were poor in these conditions; even he could only make out the outlines of the figures following them.

River had fallen beside him, her too scanning the darkness, but she-like him- was aware: of the silhouettes lining the width of the cobblestone road; of the pitter pattering of feet even though the three of them had stopped; and, of the iron rich tang to the air that could only mean the nearby presence of human blood. 

“Not good. Not good at all.” He looked to River now, and down at the gun held tight in her grip, “You don’t think it’s carolers do you? Is it the right time of year for carolers? It’s cold enough to be. And dry. Dry air. Carolers and one of them has a nosebleed!” There was a terrified scream, a woman. The Doctor shook his head dejectedly as he took off towards the sound,

“It’s never carolers.” River and H.G trailed behind, but his long legs had him rounding the corner first to find a throng of people descending on a young woman. They moved with unmistakable intent- various makeshift weapons rendered from broken bottles and chair legs in their hands-but it was the expression on their faces that gave the Doctor pause.  _There is none._

“Oi! You lot! What do you think you’re doing?!” Nothing.

He slid to the young woman’s side just as he heard H.G shout behind him, “JENNY!” 

He took in the glazed eyes of a tall man in a tattered suit, meeting the swipe of a fireplace poker with his screwdriver before spinning around to see Jenny deliver a sharp elbow to jaw that sent a particularly rank smelling gentleman crumbling to the ground. In fact, on top of being unresponsive and clearly aggressive, they all looked like they had been put through the ringer: tattered and soiled clothes, dirt covered hands and faces, one was even missing a boot ( _that explains why I heard 19 shoes)._

“You must be Jenny. I’m the Doctor. We were just coming to see you and look here you are…” Jenny ducked under the sweep of a chair leg before parrying with her umbrella, her face when she turned to him, ‘really, now?’ He’d seen the look enough over the years. For some reason humans don’t care for small talk when under threat. But truly, when else was he supposed to do it?

 H.G and River were in the fray now, but neither of them used their weapons in their efforts to subdue the crowd, they were all acutely aware that there was more going on. It was H.G who raised the question first,

 “I am not a superstitious woman Doctor, but what is wrong with these people? They appear possessed. What could cause this?” She and River pillared Jenny as more vacant-eyed people filled the street, spilling in to replace the ones they sent to the ground. They were forced to retreat to avoid the bodies, and soon found themselves backed against the wall of a tall chapel.

“Possessed, yes. Well no, they’re not really possessed, just under some type of trance; might be an advanced form of blood control… haven’t seen that in a while…” he flexed his right hand at the niggling memory, knuckles white around his screwdriver. He really should configure a setting to put a human to sleep, an electric impulse to the base of the brain ought to do the trick-he ducked, a plank of wood splintering against the stone wall behind his head-and wood he desperately needed a setting for wood.

 A woman came at him, brandishing a cast iron frying pan like a sword, in the time it took to complete the arch of her swing he easily picked out the vulnerabilities revealed by the move: right foot to femur-shattered with 3,000 newtons of force; left fist to 11th and 12th ribs-both fractured and kidney punctured with 5,000 newtons of force; palm to jaw rotate at 45 degrees to cause loss of consciousness. 

He chose the least harmful option, watching her fall unconscious onto a growing pile of bodies.  This was a disaster, but no one was dead yet from what he could tell. River knew he’d be very cross with her if she used lethal force, and H.G, well, she wasn’t far enough along in her time stream for that to an option. 

There were only a few left still fighting, but the men left standing fought like soldiers. River and H.G easily parried the attacks, but fear of hurting an innocent life sapped the strength from their blows, their hesitancy prolonging the brawl. Eventually they would tire, and the Doctor suspected that-in their current state-their opposition would not.

 H.G had been separated and surrounded, leaving River and Jenny to fend against 5 very large men. The Doctor tried to make his way over, but progress was slow, every step impeded by a swing to dodge or a body to step over. He could see the shard of broken glass sliding into its opening like a sword into its sheath. River was distracted with two other attackers, and he, damn him, he was still much too far away.

It didn’t make sense. His mind screamed in confusion. He knew when River was to die; the memory plagued him in his dreams, and it was not here on the streets of Victorian London. 

“NO!”

He saw red.

Literally.

 A curtain of blood opened to reveal a dark veiled figure, katana blade sliding easily through the tendon and bone of three men in one strike: the man zeroing in on River with a shard of glass, the Doctor was shamefully relieved to find, being one of the slain. River was already off, making her way to H.G who is still caught in a heated exchange with 3 other men.

The figure dispatched of a few more in a blur of steel, finishing by flinging a dagger over a dozen yards to lodge itself in the jugular of the man barreling down on Jenny. 

Everything fell silent.

 “No! No. No!” The Doctor meandered gracelessly over the fallen bodies-internally counting heartbeats to ascertain the loss of life-“We do not take a life unless absolutely necessary. Rule #4. Did you see their eyes? Did you see their expressions? Could you not tell they were not in control?” his voice was strained, held in conflict by his own rules and beliefs and the memory of the sickeningly satisfying feeling of hearing the man’s (who threatened River) dead body hitting the cobblestone.

 H.G was catching her breath, hands on her knees, lip split and shirt torn but otherwise unscathed. River was running smooth circles along her back, looking more like she’d just had sex than engaged in a fight: hair more unruly than ever, flush evident in her cheeks.

The veiled figure sheathed the katana and shrugged, “You were in danger. They were a threat.” 

The Doctor shook his head and let out a ragged sigh. If reverence for life was not ingrained, it would have to be taught through compassion, “See this is why you need someone Madame Vastra. This is why it simply won’t do to be alone. Speaking of…” The doctor trailed off. 

Jenny was pallid, leaning heavily against the wall, eyes shut tight.  _Perhaps the introducing of the lady’s maid to the ancient lizard woman should wait until the girl looks less prone to vomiting._  

“She looks a little faint. Taste for the bizarre: good with danger? Are you certain?” The Doctor disagreed with River. The girl may look on the verge of collapse now, but River hadn’t seen her take down a man twice her size with a broken umbrella. 

H.G it seemed, agreed with him, “Last week I saved her from an artifact that attracted all sorts of metal objects to her. While running away from every piece of silverware in her Madame’s house, she joked that if lost her job could always pursue a career as a pick pocket.” 

Helena smiled and looked back at the woman in question. Jenny was looking sturdier, now leaning gently against the wall as she brushed dirt from her dress, “Only a woman with a strong affinity for the fantastical and perilous would find time to jest while running from sharp and heavy objects that are propelling themselves at her.” 

River threw her head back and laughed, a melodic and joyous sound.  _29._ He counted her laughs. It was a way to gauge the success of a trip. From the time he picked her up from Stormhold Prison until the time he dropped her back off again: how many times did she laugh; was he able to surprise her ( _Point for taking her to see H.G Wells.),_ impress her  _(Point for H.G. herself in that regard);_  how many ways did he make her smile; how many times did she utter the word  _spoilers_?

He turned his gaze back the veiled woman at his side and lead her slowly towards the small brunette against the wall, “Madame Vastra, I’d like to introduce you to Jenny, wits and humor kept about her in times of danger, and she packs a mean wallop with an umbrella.”

“Miss Wells has told me you lost your last employment due to a case of flying cutlery-you know there’s a planet where all dinnerware is automatic-”

“Doctor…”

Sometimes the role of the companion was to keep his mind on track, “Yes, right, this is Madame Vastra, she is in need of a lady’s maid-” 

"The job will be bizarre, hazardous, and both mentally and physically straining,” apparently Vastra desired to vet the woman, which was fine really, but the intimidating edge to her voice was unnecessary given the man cleaved from left shoulder to opposite hip lying at their feet, “I require both a sparring partner and someone with whom I can discuss ideas for a case. I would add that a tolerance for blood is required, but given,” she gestured to the ground around them and trailed off.

Jenny was smiling cautiously now, the colour back in her cheeks, “This has certainly been an eventful evening. I do indeed need a job, and this one sound more appealing than most, but may I ask,” she paused and nervously tucked one of the locks torn free from her bun behind her ear, “Why the veil? Do you not care for your appearance or do you believe others won’t?”

“Others.” 

“Do you see yourself as part of the strangeness to which I must become accustomed?” 

“No…yes. I believe we will have to grow accustomed to each other.”

“Then let us begin shall we?” The quick back and forth gave way to silence. Gloved hands teased the hem of the veil before slowly pulling it back. The dim light from the street lamps danced along smooth green scales, highlighting the height of her cheekbones and the shadows under her eyes.

 Jenny let out a gasp of shock, not fear or disgust, which was thankful, for Madame Vastra was scrutinizing her expression for any sign, any reason to withdraw from this moment, this decision to no longer be alone. But Jenny wasn’t giving her any reason to back out. On the contrary…

 Jenny slowly reached out her hand, but froze as she took in the flinch and tensing of muscle, “May I Mistress?” The Doctor suspected it was the way she asked more than anything: warm and curious, timid yet testing. 

Jenny let out a small sigh as her fingers slid along the edge of her jaw, a slightly wondrous grin tweaking her lips, “soft.” 

The Doctor let the moment hang until he began to feel as if her were intruding, and then he found himself compelled to interrupt, “So, what do you all say we figure out who’d want to attack us with hypnotized townspeople?” There were mysteries to uncover, and people to save— _and_  River and H.G were flirting again  _and_  Vastra and Jenny were still staring at each other, and he’d be figuring it all out by himself at this rate.

**Idea for spin-off Bering and Wells/Doctor and River Song Fic (Will consider writing if interest is expressed)**

He would come back again, so too would River Song. At first for insights or help with a London wonder of which even her Warehouse could not dream, then they started taking her with them. She’d rescued alien school children from becoming the casualty of the fighting between Sontarans and Rutans; she’d bested a cat person and a military man who was also aligned with the Church (some things don’t change even after 22 centuries) at a game of poker; she’d received massage lessons from the mistress of a King on the moon of Poosh – it was invigorating.

The Doctor was brilliant with an intellect far outshining her rather impressive own, tempered with a childish excitement and wonder that led him to constantly stumble about as if his limbs couldn’t keep up with the commands of his mind. River Song was equal parts intelligent, flirtatious, dangerous…and occasionally psychotic. That was something all three of them shared actually, just a hint of madness spurring them onwards into the stars.

Only, after Christina died, they stopped showing up, just when she needed time travel the most. It wasn’t for a century later that Helena would see them again. Why then? And this time, how will things be different if Myka comes along for the ride?


End file.
